


Multifandom Fluff Drabbles

by blue_butterfly



Category: Being Human (UK), Britchell - Fandom, Mitchers - Fandom, The Almighty Johnsons, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit RPF, aidean - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, fluffiest fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9504410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_butterfly/pseuds/blue_butterfly
Summary: Each chapter in this is one drabble with a theme, and each drabble has the three pairings doing something according to the theme.The pairings are marked with clear paragraphs, so if you only want to read the FiKi or Britchell, you'll have to scroll past the Aidean in every chapter. Tags for each chapter will be given in the chapter notes.





	1. Silent Nights

**Author's Note:**

> These are all older works. Due to a recent glitch on tumblr I temporarily lost my account. I am now posting all my stories on AO3 as a backup.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A take on sleeping habits, cuddling, general lazing about in bed during Christmas time.

Fíli and Kíli are a tangle of limbs and hair as they lie in their small shared bed in their home in the Blue Mountains. The older brother is wrapped protectively around the younger, one hand tangled in dark hair at the back of Kíli’s head while the other splays across the narrow dip of his brother’s waist. Fíli’s face is half buried in the dark locks, his eyes closed in the deep, blissful sleep that claimed them after their lovemaking.

The small stonewall fireplace is aglow with the last embers of a dying fire, still warming the little room and adding to the heat the joining of their bodies has created. Snow is falling outside their tiny abode, coating walkways, window sills and doorsteps in a thick layer of sparkling crystals; even more fat snowflakes raining from the sky as the brothers sleep through their afterglow. They are not cold though; they’ve got many layers of furs to snuggle under and they have each other, their naked bodies radiating enough warmth to keep them cozy and snug til the morning.

The morning which will, as always, find Kíli still resting his cheek against his brother’s shoulder, his lips unconsciously munching on the knuckles of his left hand - sucking his thumb is a habit he still hasn’t quite left behind but most of the time, either his knuckles or Fíli’s braids will do. And when the younger Durin kicks his feet in his sleep and makes those small, whimpering noises, the blond dwarf’s hands will tighten their hold around him while Fíli pulls him deeper under the shelter of their blankets, and they will curl into each other, a whispered “nadadel” on their lips while the snow keeps still falling, and they smile.

*********************

Dean spoons against his lover’s back in the dead of night, when everything is quiet outside as winter lays its rare but icy claws upon the Green Isle. It’s their first winter together out of the frame of The Hobbit filming and they’ve decided to spend the festive days with only each other for company, not wanting to upset their respective families by choosing one over the other. Aidan shifts a little and sighs contented when Dean’s arm comes around his waist and the blond man’s face presses into the nape of his neck, and the Kiwi hums and twines his fingers through his boyfriend’s long, slender ones.

The little cottage they’ve rented for the season is a warm, fuzzy cocoon and their king size bed even more so; inviting them to do nothing but spend time among the sheets and pillows, exploring each other with hands, mouths and all senses while cold rain drums against the windows, or enjoying their large bath tub for hours and hours on end, soaking scented oils into their skins in a sensual massage while the snow slowly covers up everything outside. Dean shifts yet again closer to his lover, unconsciously inhales the scent that is Aidan as his face disappears into the thick curls and a smile steals onto his lips.

They’d had one of those baths that evening; followed by long, passionate sex drawn out over several hours until they reach a slow, sensuous peak rocking together into the sheets. Content and satiated, they fall asleep right afterwards, not bothering to put on any clothes although it’s cold in the countryside. They’re comfortably wrapped up until the next morning when they’ll wake up to the surreal light coming in through snow-covered windows and they will greet the new day with a kiss and a smile.

*********************

Anders is bodily sprawled across his vampire, head resting on a lightly furred chest, one arm thrown possessively across a flat stomach and one leg splayed across Mitchell’s long ones - and Mitchell, who doesn’t really need sleep, is content listening to his lover’s soft snoring while he pretends to be asleep himself, drawing breaths that are not needed but appreciated, for Anders will wake every time Mitchell’s breathing stops and will sleepily ask if he’s alright.

Glasgow is cold by this time of the year, colder than Mitchell has ever witnessed a place to be since that day in the woods so long ago, but entangled in their tight embrace he feels warm. Warm, and safe, and loved. It was on his insistence that they came here. Even with Mitchell not giving much about the festive season, even with the vampire not able to attend a church or anything, he hadn’t wanted to spend Christmas in the heat of sunny Auckland. For the first time in his long life there’s someone he feels more than fleeting lust for (though lust is one of their favourite common sins) and he wants to spend this season like the winters he remembers from his childhood, sharing all its treats with the man he calls soul mate.

So Mitchell continues to breathe, he doesn’t mind as long as it calms Anders. There’s a fond smile on his lips and he gently strokes the blond hair that tickles him while he looks out of the ceiling window of their sleeping room, watching as it slowly disappears beneath a blanket of white. He tilts his forehead against Anders’, and he doesn’t even notice when he drifts off into a light, dozing sleep as well.


	2. Walking through autumn leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn feelings, a bit on the sad side, Kleenex warning for mentions of minor character death (nothing graphic) and talk of dying, a little melancholic perhaps, but suitably fluffy in the end.

Summer is finally gone and autumn has come with its colourful palette of reds and yellows and oranges; painting trees and leaves and grass in an array of different hues. Sometimes there’s a little splash of green among the warmth of colours, a leaf fallen too early as a last memory of a hot and carefree summer. It’s late afternoon and the sun hangs low in the sky, bathing the far away mountain range that lines the horizon in a vibrant, orange glow. The days are still warm and the sun heats their faces, but in the evenings there’s already a chill and a cool wind that causes them to stoke the fire in their little chimney; a harbinger of the grim season that’s looming ahead.

Fíli was sitting on a bench outside their small abode, contently puffing smoke from his pipe and watching his brother chopping wood. Kíli’s movements were still powerful, his arms strong and sinewy, his back just this little bit bent. A few grey streaks were showing in his hair that was still full and long, pulled back into the ponytail that Fíli so loved. His beard had gained in fullness over the years but Kíli still kept it short so it wouldn’t tangle into bow or arrow; only one long, complicated braid down from his chin whose twists each stood for a station of his life, of which Fíli was a large part; all the stories that made up their existence woven into one long tale.

Fíli watched his brother, and an affectionate smile creased his lips.  
  
His own golden head was streaked with white as well, though thankfully it didn’t show as much in the blond mane as it did in Kíli’s dark one.

“You are turning from gold to silver, _kidhuzul umhud_. But don’t worry, you’ll always be the only treasure I ever live for,” Kíli used to tell him, and Fíli then drew his brother closer and held him tight.

Age had been kind to them. Their movements were a bit slower, their tempers a bit cooler and only when they were snuggled up underneath their blankets at night, resting in each other’s arms, only then did they sometimes feel the burdens of age: creaking joints and aching bones; scars from wounds that had healed ages ago suddenly beginning to hurt again. They were content with their lives though. There was nothing to complain about. They were alive, they were healthy and they still had each other.

Fíli and Kíli, the last heirs of Durin, were the last survivors into a world that rapidly became too big for them.

“Come sit with me for a while, nadadel,” Fíli said quietly when Kíli took a break from his work to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Kíli smiled, laid down the axe and eagerly followed the invitation; easing down onto the bench next to the blond, his movements still graceful and fluid although Fíli noticed the slight wince on his face as he bent down.

Kili pulled out his own pipe, stuffed and lit it and took a few initial puffs. They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun set low over the mountains in the distance; both brothers enjoying the warm glow of the late afternoon light on their faces. Kíli rested his head on his brother’s shoulder and Fíli leaned in; his cheek disappearing into dark chair. Their hands found each other out of their own accord and their fingers interlaced like they had done so often ever since their childhood.

A leaf fell, dancing its way down to the earth as it rode the soft autumn breeze, and landed on their joined hands. Kíli sighed softly, and Fíli smiled into his hair.

“What do you think it’ll be like, Fí?” Kíli’s voice was quiet and slightly distant.

“What will what be like, nadad?” Fíli said; the low, deep hum of his own voice echoing between them.

“Mahal’s halls, Fí. I wonder what they’re like. We are expected there, it won’t be long now until our last journey begings. I’d like to know what awaits us.”

Pulling his brother into a tight embrace, the pipe still clasped in one hand and the other carding softly through still dark hair, Fíli closed his eyes, basking in the last rays of the dying sun.

“They will be beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes distant like when he told one of the old stories to the children of the village. “It’ll be bright, and golden, and better than everything we have seen in this life. Uncle will be waiting for us, and mother; father, and Dwalin, and all the others who have gone. It’ll be a good place to go.”

Kíli let out a sigh at that, and Fíli continued stroking his hair.

“…and it’ll be even more beautiful because you will be by my side. We will be together, in this life and in the next, and it’ll be good and bright and beautiful.”

Another leaf fell, and the last heirs of Durin welcomed the light autumn breeze on their faces, a soft gush telling them that the halls would welcome them home, but it was not yet time to go.

  
*******************************

The wind brushes softly through the trees; their leaves rustling in the warm October air. It’s one of those rare, beautiful days that break the chain of rain and cold and ghastly weather to show that autumn can be beautiful as well; trees parading their prettiest colours while the sun caters for the most spectacular light effects in this special kind of fashion show.

The place is quiet now that everyone has left; everyone save for the two figures that remain standing at the spot. The taller one bends down and lays a small bouquet of flowers onto the weather-washed stone.

Like every time when they’re here, Aidan breaks into a fit of sobs and hot tears while Dean himself is a bit more composed, but not much. The Kiwi pulls the Irishman into a firm embrace and holds him close while Aidan weeps helplessly against his shoulder, and he feels the tears well up in his own eyes as he risks a glance over Aidan’s shoulder onto the tombstone.

 _Richard Armitage_  
-Thorin-  
1971 – 2052

The loss of their best friend still hurts even if it’s been four years this autumn; it hurts so goddamn much they can hardly bear to come here although they would never miss the anniversary of his passing away. Eighty-one years he was old, and it had been a rich, fulfilled life. They knew their friend had died in peace, and that at least was a small comfort.

The wind draws ghostly fingers through the trees again as Aidan leans into Dean in the silence of the cemetery.

They had both aged gracefully. Aidan’s sparkling eyes are surrounded by many more smile lines now and a map of creases shows on his face when he laughs. His hair is still wild and unruly, mostly grey now instead of black but still soft and silky whenever Dean runs his fingers through it. Dean himself also has a few more lines engraved into his skin and sometimes his blue eyes look tired; his once blond hair is white now and he’s wearing it shorter than he used to, but his body is still slight and lean just like his mind is sharp. When they’re around each other, they don’t feel old at all – it still feels like on that day 41 years ago when they first met and instantly knew that they were made for one another.

Dean understands what upsets Aidan so much. It’s the same feeling that’s deep down in his own gut. They know exactly what the other is thinking.

 _One day it’ll be me standing here, alone, looking down onto a stone with the name_ Kili _or_ Fili _engraved into it_.

It’s the one thought that scares them both, because it’s inevitable and there’s nothing, nothing at all that can be done about it. There’s an age gap of nearly seven years between them so it’s more than likely that Dean….

None of them wants to think that through. None of them wants to be the one left behind; none could bear to be without the other, to be left alone in this world without the man they loved. And yet that’s how it’s going to be one day; one of them will go and the other will be left behind, waiting for the day when he can finally follow the other.

Dean rubs Aidan’s shoulders and kisses away the tears.

“He wouldn’t want us to be sad, Aid. He wouldn’t want us to think gloomy thoughts and be miserable. He’d want us to be happy and enjoy life while we can, and that’s what we should do. Remember what he said at our wedding? _‘Time flies by as if it has wings; make sure not to waste a single moment to sadness’._ ”

“Yes, and then he went and got so drunk for the first time in his life, he passed out in our bed.” Aidan laughs now, his eyes still full of tears, but they’re happy ones now, tears shed for a fond memory rather than a sad one; and he does this cute thing where he bites his own knuckles to suppress a giggle. Still such a child, even at nearly seventy.

“You had to sleep on the couch…,” Dean remembers with his own fond expression.

“…and you shared the floor with Adam and Graham…on our wedding night!”

“Poor Richard was so embarrassed the next day…”

“I believe he was embarrassed for the rest of his life,” Aidan quietly chuckles and they both look at the gravestone, suddenly feeling light hearted as if their old friend was there to share in the joke.

“Let’s go home, Aid. Let’s enjoy life while we can…”

The taller man nods. Quietly, their hands touch and their fingers slot into place like they’ve done so many times before. With one last glance they thank their friend for the memory and turn around to walk away through the blanket of leaves that is spread over the grass.

Although it’s autumn, they know there will be many a new spring for their love.

  
***************************************

The blond man shifts his leg slightly and groans. It’s beginning to hurt again. That blasted knee. Although he’d never admit it out loud – he’s far too vain for that – he’s glad for the moment’s rest on the little painted bench, and he sits there quietly and very much in union with himself, something that’s rarely the case.

He sits there watching the scenery, the lush blossoms of the last flowers of the year, trees bending with apples on their moss-covered branches, the sky laden with heavy white clouds and a scent of farewell in the air that seems to include all the world while the first leaves begin to fall under the soft breeze that graces the land.

Briefly he wonders where such elaborate words do come from, then he remembers. He is the God of Poetry, after all. He smiles, self-content, and goes back to watching. Another man walks up to the bench; an old man on a walking frame, and he sits down next to him with a drwan-out sigh and a heavy thud. For a few minutes they sit like that, the old man watching him watch, until he raises a gnarled hand and points to what the blond man is looking at.

“ ’s a handsome lad, your son,” he says in a creaking voice. "Though I must say, he doesn't very much come after you."

The blond looks up in surprise. “My son…” he starts, then his eyes follow the line of the old man’s hand to where it is undoubtedly pointing at a tall man in a long-sleeved, bright yellow shirt, black jeans, mittens, a baseball cap and sunglasses. John Mitchell, vampire, probably older than that old man himself but still young in appearance; gorgeous, handsome – and certainly not Anders Johnson’s son.

He should be offended now, but somehow he can’t. It’s only too true.

Anders is in his early sixties while Mitchell still looks his eternal twenty-four. The way he behaves, bouncing up and down the meadow, weaving his way through trees, trying to feed the birds in the nearby lake and even attempting to pet a swan, it all makes him look even younger.

Mitchell enjoys autumn. It’s the season of the year when the sun is still out on some days but not strong enough to cause the vampire discomfort. On some days, he can even shed the gloves and the cap. Anders though dislikes it. It’s not his favourite season, he prefers spring or summer. People died in autumn. He didn’t want to think about dying. Not yet.

Anders is getting old, though he hates to admit it and he usually huffs when Mitchell teases him about it. But sometimes he has to use a stick for walking when his knee makes too much of a trouble; and sometimes there’s a chill in his bones that even Mitchell’s hugs and the tea he makes can’t chase away.

He is getting old, and since there’s no way to avoid it (at least none that doesn’t include becoming Baldur instead of Bragi in a more than sinister way), both he and Mitchell have accepted that fate. The vampire would stay young while his love would wither away – and die.

There would be the days when Mitchell would be mistaken for Anders’ grandson. Then for his great-grandson, if Anders is so lucky to get that old. After that, will people begin to see Mitchell as his nurse? He hopes not. And then will come the day when it all ends. He’s made Mitchell promise not to let him die in a hospital but at home, in his arms. Anders is scared of dying. Being with his love until the last moment will hopefully make the passing easier.

And then Mitchell will follow him.

They’ve decided that long ago. Mitchell has no interest lingering on in a world without Anders. Once his love is gone, Mitchell will take the same path because spending the rest of his eternal days on earth without Anders is going to be an eternity of torture to him. The knowledge of having his love die is enough pain he can bear; the thought of years and decades and centuries passing; of Anders’ bones and body and grave crumbling to dust while Mitchell lives on, eternally young…it’s too much to bear.

They hope for their souls, their spirits to be reunited again in the afterlife – if such a thing exists. Ty or Axl is going to do it for him or, if the younger Johnson brothers aren’t alive anymore for whatever reason, one of Ty and Dawn’s many children will help him out…and if that won’t work Mitchell will do it himself. The stake is already there, hidden away in a box deep in their closet. They’ve carved it together, after the vampire had finally convinced his boyfriend that it was the only way, that an eternity without Anders is a world without meaning to him; and there are Norse runes for love and an Irish blessing written on it.

Mitchell walks over to him now, and Anders is ripped from his thoughts when that bright smile lights up his boyfriend’s handsome face; a smile that is brightest when it’s directed at Anders. Mitchell slips onto his lap and Anders hides a smug smile at the shocked face of the old man next to them.

“He’s not my son,” he grins as he pulls the vampire down for a kiss. When they finally break apart, the old man is gone.

“Can we go home, Dracula? I feel the strong urge to stake you right into the mattress.”

Mitchell throws his head back and laughs. It’s their way of dealing with this, and Anders will cling to it as long as he can, for both Mitchell’s sanity and his own.

They walk home through the park; the vampire’s arm around the god’s waist maybe only a tiny little bit supportive, and Anders only leaning into it because it feels so good.

Leaves fall onto their path, and Anders smiles.

Maybe autumn wasn’t so bad after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ——————————–
> 
> kidhuzul umhud = my great golden blessing (my Khuzdul’s basic at best, sorry for any mistakes).
> 
> The inscription on Richard’s grave is inspired by Tolkien’s own gravestone that has 'Beren’ written on it, after one of the characters in his Silmarillion.


	3. Sniffles and Sneezes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> being sick, caring for one another, sickness, cold, flu, fluff.

Just like they shared all the good things in their lives, Fíli and Kíli shared the bad ones alike. Always had, and ever would. If Fíli got sick, Kíli would follow suit and vice versa. It wasn’t a thing that could be helped or prevented in any way. Even if they weren’t together for a change, both of them would miraculously be struck down by the same illness at the very same moment. And all they ever cared for was not their own well-being but that of the other. Each of them would insist that the other was far more sick and therefore needed all the attention; and each brother would not stop asking how the other fared; not even when fever and exhaustion nearly took them - _my brother, how is my brother, please look after my brother_ , that was all that was on their minds.   
  
Fíli blinked sleepy, heavy eyes open. His head felt like it was thrice its usual size and it throbbed like someone was striking it with a mallet. His whole face was hurting and his body felt heavy and light at the same time; too heavy to lift a single limb and yet light enough to make him feel like a balloon adrift in a summer breeze. Blond hair obscured his vision and he faintly remembered that his brother had undone all his braids and combed them out and took out the metal clasps so that he could rest more comfortably. The memory of those soft fingers in his hair somewhat soothed him and he closed his eyes for a moment to relish in the feeling. His brother….where was Kíli?!

At the sound of motion from the other bed the brunet stirred and opened his eyes although at first his lids refused to do their job. He took a few deep, rasping breaths while his blurry vision still adjusted. His throat felt swollen and sore; swallowing was a painful business and yet he needed to do it if he didn’t want to gag; it had never been such a conscious act like now. Sweat dribbled down his back underneath the thin shirt he was wearing, and it glued his wild brown hair to his cheeks and forehead. He was sure he had a fever… _They_ had a fever, judging from the way Fíli was curled into the blankets in the bed opposite him, his face all pudgy and his nose red and sore. Fíli, my brother….

Brown eyes caught blue ones and as always there was a silent understanding. Quietly, Kíli slipped from his bed, shaky legs carrying him the few steps towards the other resting place, and Fíli lifted the coverlets for the younger one to slip inside. They shifted until they lay closer, able to wrap their arms around each other and find comfort in the familiarity of their bodies. The younger dwarf reached out to curl a blond strand of hair around his finger, and at the same moment Fíli lifted his hand to caress his brother’s cheek.

“My Kí..,” the blond rasped; his lips curling into a fond smile.  
“I’m here, nadadel..,” Kíli whispered back, and his smile matched Fíli’s.

Their fingers entwined, their legs tangled together and their faces sunk into blond and brunet hair, breathing in the other’s scent and finding peace in the steady and ever-present heartbeat of their brother, their love, while their bodies melted into One to sleep away and cure the illness that kept them apart.

***************************************

They were halfway through ‘Young Hercules’ when Aidan noticed his boyfriend’s blond head slowly sinking down inch by inch, followed by the rest of Dean’s body that sagged to the side, although some minutes earlier the Kiwi had assured him that he was 'alright’. As alright as someone could be after eating their way through three tins of cough sweets (but having no appetite for anything else for the whole day), drinking two pots of tea and sneezing away two boxes of Kleenex. Aidan quickly stretched his legs onto the table and put a pillow onto his lap before Dean’s head stopped in its downward course, snuggling onto said pillow while he drew up his legs to the couch and curled in on himself. “My poor sick little man”, Aidan cooed affectionately while he shifted his arms to give Dean the best possible comfort. The blond only made a rasping sound and closed his eyes.

Aidan threaded his fingers lightly through Dean’s hair, careful not to wake the sleeping man. The blond shivered and moaned quietly when Aidan pulled up the blanket that Dean had managed to tangle into and he tucked it down across the smaller man’s shoulders. Dean’s poor body was so wrecked from the exhaustion of staying up; his nose was quite red from all the sneezing and his eyes had been clouded with a veil of dull pain. Sleep was probably the best thing for him right now. Aidan’s other hand underneath the blanket came to rest on the curve of the blond’s waist, and unconsciously he drew the worn blue t-shirt up and slipped his hand underneath, only to find skin that wasn’t only pleasantly warm, but radiating the heat of fever. Gently rubbing his thumb up and down the small expanse of skin, he set a soothing pattern that he knew would make his boyfriend relax.

It probably sounded cruel, but Aidan found sick Dean so unbelievably cute, he could have spent ages just looking at him while he slept. Sick Dean also woke some strange motherly instincts. Aidan felt the strong urge to dote upon him, to fetch him medicine and handkerchiefs and cook him tea and make sure he ate enough. He would spread some nivea cream underneath Dean’s poor, abused nose and actually force him to take the antibiotics the doctor had prescribed, although they were, according to Dean, 'awful’ and 'heinous’. Aidan would fetch him new pyjamas whenever the recent ones were soaked with sweat, he’d wipe his forehead with a cool cloth and of course he’d always make space for Dean to use his lap as a pillow. Aidan knew for certain that he was going to be the next victim of the flu. It was inevitable, unless Aidan took to sleeping on the couch instead of in their shared bed; and that wasn’t going to happen, no matter how sick Dean was. So in a few days time, Dean would pass the cold right on to him, but Aidan didn’t mind. He knew he’d be cared for lovingly when he was sick, just like he cared for Dean now.

****************************************

“I just don’t get it,” Mitchell complained again, his consonants not only muffled by his thick Irish, but also by his blocked nose so that in reality the complaint sounded somewhat like 'djus’ du'n bedd ibb’. Anders’ lips curved into a a grin, but he quickly turned away and hid it from the cranky supernatural who lay sprawled on the couch. Mitchell was a picture of suffering, and if Anders had had any compassion at all, he might indeed have been worried for his undead lover. That was the exact point though.

“I’m dead, I shouldn’t be able to come down with the flu.”

It had indeed been a surprise when Mitchell had started sneezing and coughing three days ago; only marginally at first so that both lovers hadn’t thought much of it. But then it had grown into a full-blown cold which had resulted in the vampire being unable to even leave the bed. He was feeling slightly better today and had dragged himself to the couch, but Anders suspected it was only to annoy him.

“I’ve never had a cold! Not in 118 years!” Mitchell whined again and Anders finally turned around.

“Come on you’re not telling me you never fell ill while you were still alive?”   
  
“No. No I didn’t. I was a healthy child, I never got sick. And now I’m a vampire and I’m sneezing, it’s pathe….ACHOO!”  
  
Anders bit down hard on his lower lip to suppress the smirk that blossomed there. It wasn’t glee, no, no, definitely not. Not when sneezing Mitchell looked like an exploding kraken; hair and arms and legs all flying wildly with the effort.  
  
“Bless you,” Anders said in a jolly tone and Mitchell glared.  
  
“Oh come on!” The blond rolled his eyes. “Get over it, it’s only a cold, it won’t kill yo-….well.”

“How’d I get this anyway, I wonder,” Mitchell said, trying to voice the words past the blockage in his nose.   
  
Anders only shrugged. “I was sick, you insisted on fucking me anyways, BAM?”  
  
“Are you saying the virus entered my body through my…” Mitchell looked down to his lap in what could only be described as panic, and Anders finally broke into a fit of hysteric giggles. Pushing away from the counter, he padded over to the couch and sat down next to the vampire who was looking positively miserable. Running a hand through the soft black curls, he touched Mitchell’s forehead. The skin there was indeed warmer than normal, though not feverish. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to it.

“I’m saying that maybe it was a bit too much even for your vampire body.”

Mitchell just sighed and sneaked his arms around Anders’ neck, pulling the other man down onto the sofa with him. The blond complied and curled himself against the vampire, sliding an arm around Mitchell’s waist and nosing his face into more dark locks.

“Think positive,” he whispered. “Being a vampire also means you’ll get over this much faster…as long as you don’t pass it back to me, that is.”

“Can’t promise that,” Mitchell said with a smile and drew the blond in for a kiss.


	4. Can't sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepnessness and its cures :)

A soft rustling and the sound of bare feet against the cold stone floor tell Kíli it’s one of those nights again. One of the nights when he wakes up to the other side of the bed left deserted and barren. The dark haired Durin knows these nights; they are increasing in frequency as of late. And although he also knows that it’s not his fault, he still feels kind of guilty every time Fíli sees the need to slip from their shared bed and wander the halls and corridors of Erebor at night like the shadow of a long dead king; the weight of the future pressing down on him while what he should really do was rejoice at the fact that the mountain was reclaimed and not one life had been lost.  
  
Slipping from the bed quietly, the brunet dwarf laments the loss of the cozy warm nest for a second before he slides into a pair of warm slippers, grabs one of their many fur blankets and sneaks from their chamber like a shadow of his own, softly as a sigh. Locating his older brother is an easy task; Kíli knows all of his favourite places and thus he’s not surprised to find golden hair gleaming in the moonlight on one of the terraces overlooking Dale. There’s no need to announce his approach; the brothers are so attuned to one another they can sense each other’s presence. Kíli steps up quietly behind the golden heir and drapes the blanket across broad shoulders that are only slightly hunched.

“You’ll catch death,” he says and smiles as he leans against his brother’s wider frame and wraps his arms around Fíli from behind; smiles because that’s what their mother always said and since when has Kíli taken to mothering his older sibling? Fíli just smiles as well; affectionate, knowing and just this little bit defeated, and he nods quietly and lets out a puff of breath that turns into a tiny cloud of white fog in the cold night air and mingles with that of his brother. He covers Kíli’s hand with his own, gives it a gentle squeeze and brings it up to press a kiss on top of it. Their matching rings glisten when a ray of moonlight catches on the silver surface.

No words are needed as the brothers look out over what will one day be their kingdom; a kingdom without heirs, as their uncle keeps reminding them, but that’s not what they want to think about now; that’s the future and the future is still far away while the present is here, in the shelter of their furs and their bed; and when they lie down together again, Fíli smiles and falls asleep in his brother’s arms.

****************************************

Aidan sleeps like a baby. At least that’s what Dean thinks, and most of the time it’s true; once the Irishman has passed into the realm of dreams, it’ll need a small detonation or an Oompah-band next to his bed to wake him up. But the Kiwi has no idea that Aidan’s sleep is not as deep as everybody thinks it to be and that it’s just as easily disrupted; especially when every once in a while Dean feels compelled to disentangle from their sheets in the dead of the night and wander down the stairs. Aidan can easily tell by the change in Dean’s breath; something his blond lover doesn’t even know he’s capable of. That’s a mistake many people make when it comes to Aidan: talking is not the only thing he’s good at.

At first, he’d mistaken Dean’s nightly excursions for sleepwalking, but he quickly discovered that that wasn’t the case. He tried to follow him once, feeling like a spy in their own house as he tiptoed down the stairs; only to end up in front of the locked door to Dean’s studio. He spent the better part of the night listening to any noises that might come from there; worried for no particular reason, but when he heard the familiar sound of brushstrokes against canvas or the scratching of a pen on paper, he went back to bed with a smile. By chance, he found out one day what Dean was doing down there at night, and it brought another smile to his lips.

Aidan hadn’t meant to be nosy, it wasn’t his nature to secretly spy any further when a locked door clearly meant that privacy was appreciated; but Dean had left the door open and normally the atelier wasn’t a no-zone for Aidan, so he went inside that day with the noble intention of just cleaning the windows, only to find last night’s canvases and sketches still up in the open; and he actually had to stop and look and smile because Dean’s nightly activity is not only painting but _painting Aidan_ ; moreover, painting Aidan in various stages and positions of sleep, and it’s so cute that Aidan swears never to lose a word about having seen the pictures.

And thus when Dean finally sneaks back after some hours, Aidan pretends he’s still asleep and doesn’t notice the way his lover is looking at him, memorizing him for the next time he suffers from insomnia. And when Dean eventually slides under the covers, Aidan rolls over with a small moan and spoons against him, inhaling the faint smell of paint as he buries his face in Dean’s neck and smiles at the fact that Dean doesn’t know he _knows_.

************************************

The night is Mitchell’s natural hunting ground and who could blame him that after more than a century he still prefers the cover of the night over the clear brightness of the day. His body does not need to sleep, not like a human body needs to at least; and thus a vampire’s fate is not only having to cope with the bloodthirst but also with perpetual insomnia. While he was living with George and Annie, he has pretended to sleep for the sake of feeling more human; although a light rest was everything he ever managed to achieve and most of the time he just lay in his small bed in his small room and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the morning to come.

It’s different since he’s with Anders though. He’s drinking blood again - god blood, mind you, but blood still - and ironically enough it’s that blood that enhances his vampire abilities by keeping him sated for long periods of time, but also makes him feel much more human than ever before. He doesn’t have to kill anymore. He doesn’t have to take lives to survive, but he can’t pretend to be sleeping because the god-blood in his system keeps him awake and alert. And thus he sneaks out of their sleeping room every night after they’ve made love. He knows Anders doesn’t mind. They’re not like a normal couple anyway, and so Mitchell just uses the time to read, or draw, or think.

Just that Anders does mind. He minds a lot, in fact, because he secretly wants what other couples have, too. He wants to fall asleep in someone’s arms and wants to be held close at night; he wants to listen to Mitchell’s breath and wake up to his face first thing in the morning. He has never told Mitchell so because it has taken him a while to come to terms with that himself - it was sappy as shit, wasn’t it - but then one night he is just so sick of having the sleeping room all for himself although he has a boyfriend - _a boyfriend_!- that he grabs Mitchell by the arm when he gets up to leave and asks him to stay. “Just for a little while, please?”

And Mitchell complies, not able to resist those big blue eyes. He snuggles up to his boyfriend and Anders curls around him, and they hold each other for a good long while. Such a long while indeed that the next thing Mitchell knows is blinking sleepily into the morning light; and from that day onwards he stays every night because through some trick or another, Mitchell is now the only vampire who can actually sleep.


	5. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written with dancingintherain-allnight, who wrote Fíli/Kíli and the Anders part of Britchell; I wrote Aidean and Mitchell, and the last paragraph of Britchell we did together in roleplay-form. The prompt word was ‘rain’. I hope you all like what we made of it :)
> 
> Warnings: a bit of sad fluff

Sighing deeply, Fíli set aside the towel he had dried his hair with. He was truly and utterly exhausted. The whole day had been filled with long and boring meetings, discussions of trade arrangements with the men of Dale and the Mirkwood elves. As heir to the throne, it was Fíli’s duty to take part in those meetings, were they dull or not. The blonde was not exactly enthusiastic about that duty, especially these days when summer had settled upon Middle-earth and the days were hot.

Even inside Erebor, the air was thick with heat and humidity and the cool stone walls offered only little relief. Sitting in a room with many people for the whole day was torture and Fíli was relieved beyond belief when he could finally escape to his quarters and have a wash. Kíli had already gone to bed after a long day out in the heat, leading scout troops along the kingdom’s boundaries. Despite his exhaustion, Fíli didn’t go to bed immediately, but sat down by the window, gazing out into the night.  
  
After a few minutes, a sudden flash of light blinded the dwarf, followed by an earth shattering thunder. Fíli sighed and inhaled deeply as the first thick droplets fell to the ground. Within seconds it was pouring, one of these summer thunderstorms which start without warning and mostly stop as quickly as they come. Already the air lost its heaviness and a fresh scent was in the air.

More lightning flashed, followed by loud thunders that resonated through the mountain. But even they couldn’t tune out the small whimper coming from their bed. Fíli turned around, recognizing the familiar sign at once: Kíli was tossing himself from side to side in his sleep, whimpering in his sleep, his face contorting in agony. His brother was at his side at once, touching his face and hair soothingly.

"It’s alright, Kee, I’m here. Everything will be fine, love," he whispered, slipping under the coverts behind his brother and lover, pulling him into a tight embrace. Since Kíli was a child, he’d always be afraid of thunderstorms, even now. The thunder battle between the stone giants clearly hadn’t made things better.

So Fíli simply lied there, holding his brother close, whispering soothing words into his hair, constantly stroking and caressing every inch of Kíli he could reach. Though the other didn’t wake, he relaxes visibly just having his love close. Fíli’s presence always did the trick, calming Kíli and letting him feel save and loved through his nightmares.

They lay like that, entangled in the sheets until the storm passed and Fíli drifted to sleep as well.

———————————————————

Looking out of the window, Dean shivered involuntarily and curled his toes inside the thick socks he was wearing. He clutched the mug of steaming tea tighter, warming his fingers on it.

The rain drummed against the windows, getting heavier by the second until it was bucketing down; thick drops streaking paths down the glass like dirty roads as they burst against it with loud thuds. The street below, lit only by one light further down the road at the corner was dark and lonely, almost invisible through the wall of rain. Worry was beginning to gnaw at him. Aidan was out longer than usual; he should’ve been home already a while ago. Maybe he’d got delayed at work - he was starring in a theatre play and it was always kind of chance luck whether he got away early or not, depending on the number of people waiting for him at the stage entrance.

On cue, he heard the key turn in the lock and he started down the hall, only to see the curly head of his boyfriend in the doorway. Aidan was soaking wet, his shirt and jacket sticking to his body and his jeans drenched right through. His hair was plastered against his face; little rivulets meandering down his forehead, dripping off his eyelashes like plump, round tears. There was literally water running out of his shoes, and Dean noticed the shivering. “Shit…what happened?”, the blond asked wide-eyed, staring at his boyfriend.

“M-missed the b-bus,” Aidan brought out between clattering teeth. “Next one would’ve b-been an hour, so I w-walked. And then my umbrella k-kinda broke…,” he lifted the useless frame of balled up metal and plastic.

“Aaw…why didn’t you take a taxi?”  
Aidan blinked and looked at him. “Shite…didn’t t-think of it, really…”

Sometimes, Aidan was just such a massive, cute, sheepish little dork. Then he saw the shuddering again and he just grabbed his soaking boyfriend by the arm and dragged him along to the bathroom where he peeled Aidan out of the wet jacket and shirt. The normally tanned skin was clammy and white, goose-bumps having broken out all over. Dean made quick work of stripping his freezing lover and dragging him into the shower; turning the tap to hot. After that, he gently sat him down on the edge of the tub and rubbed him dry with a soft, warm towel. Aidan let all that happen to him like a little boy; allowing Dean to rub and tousle his hair and even to comb it out afterwards; and he lifted his legs obediently to slip into the pyjama bottoms Dean was holding out for him. The older man would never admit it out loud, but he loved pampering Aidan like a little child, grooming and dressing him, feeding him tea and a warm sandwich while Aidan sat there wrapped in a pre-heated bath robe; he loved tucking him into bed and kissing him good night; the bleary-eyed look Aidan gave him from underneath all the covers and pillows being the only reward Dean ever needed. Finally they were snuggled up in bed together, their bodies tangled into one; Aidan’s dark head tucked underneath Dean’s chin.

“You okay now?” Dean hummed softly into the taller man’s curls. “Still cold?”  
“Nah, much better. I got the best of boyfriends to take care of me.”  
Dean smiled and nuzzled closer. “Just, next time you’re stuck in the rain, call me and I’ll come pick you up, okay?”

Nodding sleepily, Aidan murmured “Will do”, before he pulled Dean’s arm tighter around his middle, buried his face against Dean’s shoulder and drifted off to sleep. Burrowing deeper into their cosy little nest while he listened to the sounds of the rain against the windows, Dean followed suit.

———————————————————

"That’s ten fifty, sir." Anders put out his wallet and handed the delivery boy two bills. "Keep the change," he said absent-mindedly, closing the door and carrying the plastic bags into the kitchen. The pasta and bruschette smelled delicious, but Anders was not hungry. Once again he glanced to the clock on the oven. It was way past eight and still no sign of Mitchell. The vampire’s shift had ended half an hour ago and even if he walked home, he never took so long. Anders was not worried (or at least he tried to convince himself of that); John was a vampire, fuck's sake, if anyone could look after themselves just fine it was him.

Flopping down on the couch once again, Anders turned the TV’s volume up and tried to listen to the News. The only problem was, John had been off the whole day and Anders had absolutely no idea, why. Having late shift for the whole week, his boyfriend had come to work with Anders as he always did. Dawn certainly welcomed that, because it meant that Anders was a) in the office for once and b) actually working, while Mitchell laid on the sofa reading. But today, John had restlessly paced the PR’s office, irritating both Dawn and her boss. He seemed deeply in thought and while Anders certainly wasn’t overly tactful or empathic, he’d known that something was troubling the vampire. And now, he still wasn’t at home.  
  
Cursing under his breath, Anders finally turned off the TV and tossed the remote on the coffee table. Ignoring the food on the kitchen counter, the God shrugged on his coat, grabbing his keys. Might as well go and search for Mitchell; Anders was really worried right now. Fuck, he’d even call Mike to help him, if he’d have to – but only as the last straw.

Just as Anders stepped around the corner of the street, it started pouring.

*

The rain came down in big heavy splatters, washing down the street to collect in dirty puddles along the sidewalk. A single light at the far end barely lit the dim alley, painting grotesque shadows on the brick wall of the derelict building that he was sliding along, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to be seen. In fact, it was his sole aim not to be seen; not tonight, and he wouldn’t mind if he were never ever seen again. He was glad he couldn’t even see himself in the shards of the smashed windows. It just was too much pain. Looking at himself, looking at what he’d become….he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t bear to look at the monster that he was; that he’d never cease to be, even now that he was clean. He hadn’t killed in nearly ten months, he hadn’t drunk blood….except from one person, and this person was still very much alive and happy. In a way, Mitchell had been as human as he could ever get in those past ten months. Living a normal life, going to work each day, going to a pub for a pint or two or to a restaurant for a nice dinner…falling in love even. For the first time in nearly sixty years. And he was in love; he had fallen head over heels for Anders, who was just as damaged and fucked up as himself. Anders who made him feel so human, through both the blood and the love he gave him.

But tonight, oh, tonight he didn’t feel human at all. It was his birthday. His second birthday. Tonight 94 years ago, he had been turned into the walking abomination that he was, and what was worst, he’d had an actual choice, but he’d been a coward and chose the path that - at the time - had seemed the only logical one. He was but 24, he didn’t want to die. Looking back now, after nearly a century, he more than once wished he could revise that decision and go back to that day in the woods. To refuse the offer Herrick had made him; accept his fate and die a lonely, deserved death. Only, if he had indeed died that day in July so long ago, he’d never have met Anders…and never found love.

*

Anders had searched all the pubs they normally went to, but without any luck. Finally, he came across the bar he and the vampire had first met - or rather the dark alley where Mitchell had tried to have him for dinner, that night two years ago. The night that had changed everything. Rounding the corner, Anders spotted the vampire at the farthest end of the alley, doubled over.

"John?"

Mitchell whipped around at the sound of his real name. It was common enough a name to be heard every now and then from strangers, and usually the vampire did not react to that. There was only one person, however, who would say his name in such a way as to send a shiver down his spine and let him know without doubt that 'John’ referred exclusively to him. He winced in almost physical pain at the worried sound that interlaced that voice.

“How did you find me?” He whispered without turning around.

Anders simply rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the rain water dripping from his wet hair into his eyes.

"Call it instinct, I don’t know. C'mon, John, what are you doing here? I-it’s freezing." Anders rubbed his hands together to try and create some warmth; the evening was chilly and his rain-soaked clothes didn’t help in that matter.

"You’ve been different all day and now you’re looming around in some dark alley like a freak…bet you already spooked away half of the bar’s potential customers," the God tried to joke lamely. His teeth were beginning to clatter.

Biting his lips, the vampire looked to the floor. Raindrops were drowning in dirty puddles and a wet spot was blooming on the toe of his soft leather boot. He didn’t want to drag Anders into all this…this was personal, it had nothing to do with the blond man and Mitchell would hate to see Anders get hurt in any way because of him, even if it were only a cold. Not again, not another person added to the list of people he had hurt….

“I **am** a freak, Anders”, he whispered as he walked up to his boyfriend. “I’m even more than that. I’m a monster, and maybe it’s better to spook away people…,” he sighed, not looking Anders in the eyes. “Go home, Anders. You’re freezing, and this isn’t any of your concern; this is my shit to deal with…”

Anders had to bite his lip to remain silent; whenever someone talked like that, the PR normally dismissed it as ‘Emo’-blabbering, something he didn’t have time for and got annoyed from. The God always lived in the moment, trying to make the best out of every situation - his not-overly-pleasant childhood had taught him that: to look forward and not to let anything spoil your mood, especially other people. Maybe that was egoistic, yeah, but Anders had his reasons to be the person he was.

In this case, however, no snarky comment left him. Because if someone *deserved* to be an Emo, it was Mitchell. He hadn’t told Anders overly much of his past, but the blond was not stupid. He mused the consequences of being a vampire brought that along.

"Bullshit! You’re not a freak, John, or if you are, I’m too, definitely. But you’re also a good person; how long have you been living without blood, John? Did you attack people recently? No? Then don’t tell me you’re a bad person, because, fuck’s sake, you’re literally the best thing that happened to me in my whole life - and the way *you* changed me can’t be bad, not in my books." He didn’t mean to explode like that, but seeing Mitchell down made his heart ache. "And I’m not going home ‘til you told me what’s going on - and you’re coming with me."

That little outburst got his attention because Anders was hardly ever that emotional, so this rant actually surprised the vampire. It was true they were good for each other, they had changed each other for the better and especially Mitchell was glad for that, more than glad, thankful beyond words because had he had to listen to the voices of his past victims only one day longer, he’d have gone insane. That was in the past, thanks to Anders and his sweet (and non-human) blood. But did it make Mitchell less of a monster? Rubbing his boyfriend’s shivering shoulders, he leaned his forehead against Anders’; taking a deep breath before he revealed his innermost secret.

“I…it’s the night of my change, Anders. Tonight many years ago I was turned into a vampire.”

Anders swallowed, closing his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, he was slightly more calm.

Tenderly, he rubbed his nose against his boyfriend’s.

"I understand. But seriously, John, I. Don’t. Care. You are not a monster and I want you by my side forever, is that clear? I was worried as fuck where you are! So please don’t hide anything from me, never again. Are we clear on that?"

The god searched Mitchell’s eyes for any sign that the vampire understood his words, rubbing his nose against Mitchell’s and clinging to the collar of his coat.

Despite everything, Mitchell had to smile at those words. They weren’t taking away all of the hurt and the pain, nothing ever could, but they were like a soothing balm spread over a wound, numbing out the pain. Maybe Anders was right. Maybe he should open up more and not swallow down his problems to let them fester and boil; trying to deal with them by himself because obviously, he couldn’t. He’d need to let Anders help him. He’d need to learn how to trust. Looking into the god’s bright blue eyes, he knew he was on the best possible way. 

"Understood,” he nodded as he wrapped his arms around Anders’ waist and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

The rain kept pouring down, but neither the god nor the vampire cared.


	6. Sleepy showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy showering/bathing after a late night out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a bonus Britchell alternative version that I’m going to post separately.

 

**Sleepy Showers**

The sky’s already darkening and the first stars are out while the sun is still low on the horizon. Fíli admires the play of the light across the dark canvas while he carefully strips down and folds his clothing neatly, placing it on the nearby ridge. It’s been a beautiful day; one of those bright, cold winter days when the light is sharp and the air so clear you can see for miles on end. Erebor’s slopes and the neighbouring valleys are deeply covered in snow; Laketown’s lake almost frozen over. It is their first winter in the new - old - home of the dwarves, and despite their official and regular duties as princes now, Fíli and Kíli are busy enough discovering all the hidden chambers and silent corners of the Lonely Mountain anew. One of those places is the natural stone basin on one of the lower tiers of the rows of balconies that they had stumbled upon one warm summer night and that, apparently, hadn’t yet caught the attention of anybody else. It is a delight: in the summer, the water in the pool is pleasantly cool then while in the colder months, the spring that nurtures the pool seems to heat up by whatever natural causes and the basin turns into a veritable hot tub; the occasional bubbles rising giving them cause for laughter. Fíli strips out of his undergarments and puts them out of reach of any splashes - he knows his brother well enough to take precautions of that sort. Kíli is not here yet, most likely he got delayed at the archery range - he is now the captain of the palace guards and there’s many a duty that requires him to keep his abilities shipshape; just like Fíli is required to sharpen his mind on a daily basis as his uncle’s first advisor.  
  
Fíli tests the water with his toes - it’s almost too hot - before he slides inside; his muscles singing a song of joy and thanks as he submerges his body and relaxes against the surface of the rock; worn smooth by the thousands of years that water has been dripping down its rough exterior. He closes his eyes and lets out a content puff of breath. After a while, there are footsteps on the balcony; the quiet step of a skilled hunter, but Fíli is so used to his brother’s every noise and sound, he’d recognize these footsteps from a hundred leagues away. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, not even when the rustling of fabric tells him his brother is undressing. There’s a little plash and ripples on the water when Kíli glides in, flexible as an otter, and then arms come around Fíli’s neck and lips seal over his. Still he doesn’t bother to open his eyes; he just quietly returns the embrace and hums into the kiss, content with the world as it is right now. Kíli settles between his sibling’s legs, his back against Fíli’s broad chest, and he drops his head back to rest on the older one’s shoulder. It’s an intimate pose, one they’re used to ever since their earliest childhood when life in the Blue Mountains had made it necessary for Dís to cram them into one tub together. Growing up together in a cramped place like a mountain - any mountain, really; Erebor is no exception to that but better not mention that to their uncle - there is only limited space to avoid each other. Not that Fili and Kili ever want to avoid each other. If anything, they’ve got even closer after the battle that had nearly taken both their lives.

Fíli shifts a bit and angles his legs so Kili can rest comfortably. Instantly, his hands go up to run through Kíli’s dark, tousled mane in an attempt of grooming. Kíli closes his eyes while his brother keeps untangling knots and strands of hair. They cherish this. It has become a ritual long ago, one that originates way back in their childhood when a younger brother had been upset about not being allowed to wear braids in his hair yet and an older one secretly weaving some into the thick locks at night. They’d stuck to this every night from then on. Fili’s fingers find the claiming braid and brush over it with a flashing of pride. His beautiful brother is also his beloved spouse now. The younger dwarf has by now almost drifted off to sleep, a look so content on his face it makes Fili’s heart soar in joy. Being together like this is peaceful and soothing. He rests his chin on his brother’s head, taking advantage of one of the few times when Kíli is not actually taller than him. He surveys the body splayed out before him for injuries; another ritual they’ve grown accustomed to many moons ago; satisfied when he finds none. Snowflakes have started falling from the sky in the meantime, thick little things with furry hats and coats that mingle into the water with a silent fizzle and adorn Kili’s dark head with a crown of white, glistening jewels. Angling his head, Kili begs for a kiss and is granted his wish. Little clouds of breath ascend into the nightly air as the mountain spring bubbles on and the brothers kiss, knowing they’ll be hit by the frost once they get out, but smiling at the prospect of their warm and cozy bed.

  
**********************************

Dean is already stripped down to his underwear - the dwarven one, the longjohns - when there’s a knock at the door of his trailer, and a pretty insistent one at that. Cursing under his breath, Dean steps over the debris on the floor that is part the remnants of his soaked costume, part the usual litter that’s so typical for any bachelor’s flat that it’s more of a social phenomenon than a habit. Kicking one of the lager cans out of his way, Dean manages for the door, eyes widening in surprise when he’s met face to face with a shivering little brother in the form of one soaking-wet Irishman. Aidan’s not even out of his muscle suit yet, at least not completely. The lower part is gone, long legs bare save for a towel around the hips and a pair of flip flops on his feet while the upper part of the suit dangles somewhere around Aidan’s waist, covered by a black tee and, peeking out underneath, the shirt of Kíli’s underwear. It makes for an interesting silhouette, to say the least. Rain is dripping from Aidan’s curly hair into the neck of the shirt, no surprise since it’s gushing down the proverbial cats and dogs, and he looks downright miserable. Voice strained from the cold, he stutters out an explanation _\- shower broke - no hot water - fookin’ shite - can I use yours….?_ , and Dean’s so concentrated looking into those puppy eyes that he totally fails to ask the dripping, freezing mess inside and only blinks awake from his stare when Aidan sneezes. _“‘course…'course…come in,”_  he says and discreetly kicks another beer can away.

Even if he’s tired, dirty and sweaty, Dean is a gentleman also to his fellow actors and so he lets Aidan go first in the shower while he sits on his bed, listening to the noises coming from inside the small cubicle and looking out through the tiny window at the rear of his trailer, watching the rain splutter down. The masses of water had turned the ground into a muddy swamp, which is the reason why Peter had called it a day early on. Dean tries very hard not to think of the naked Irishman in his trailer, only a step or two away and separated by nothing but a wobbly plastic door, but he fails miserably. Aidan and he are no novices when it comes to that. There have been a few heated kisses, a little awkward fumbling while they were watching a DVD in the even greater mess that is Aidan’s trailer; some quick getting off by rubbing against each other through their boxers or by pushing into the other’s fist. There’s this thing they’ve got going on, though Dean isn’t exactly sure whether it’s a relationship or not, or whether he even wants it to become one. Well yes he does, but then again he isn’t so sure about what Aidan wants or…- On cue the bathroom door opens to reveal Aidan shrouded in a cloud of steam, wearing nothing but this tiny little towel around his hips, and Dean’s breath shudders in his throat.   
  
“Was jus’ t'inking it’s a bit unfair to let you wait,” he says, accent as thick like the air that streams out of the tiny space, “You’re tired as well and…ah, maybe we could…share?”   
  
Dean only nods mutely, peeling out of his clothing.

The shower is hardly big enough for one, let alone for the two of them and Aidan even has to duck his head to be able to get his curls wet, but it doesn’t matter because what little space there is between them they’re quickly closing, pressing together as the hot water streams down on them and warms their tired, stiff limbs. Wet like that, Aidan is beautiful like a dark, male Aphrodite and Dean just can’t take his hands off him; he has to touch, feel and explore. Apparently it’s the same for the Irishman because long-fingered hands roam all of Dean’s body from his back down over his hips and ass. They kiss, and it’s wet not only because of the shower stream; and it’s nothing like their usual encounters: this is relaxed and confident; sweet and loving and tender with a promise of more, but not right now because they’re both too tired for any action, although their bodies certainly suggest otherwise.   
  
They share Dean’s last remnant of cheap Axe gel between them, both smiling at the thought of smelling the same in the morning as their hands run over slippery skin. Towelling each other off, Dean can’t resist to tousle Aidan’s curls and Aidan laughs and then shyly asks Dean for a shirt and a pair of jogging pants because he literally has nothing with him but his bare skin and the dirty half-dress attire he showed up in, and _maybe Dean’s got an umbrella that he can borrow so he won’t get soaked again when he walks back to his trailer?_ And Dean’s got an even better idea because instead of an umbrella he’s got his bed which is nice and warm and dry, and Aidan doesn’t really need pants, does he? So he finds him a pair of boxers and a shirt - the soft, blue one - and they crawl into Dean’s bed together smelling like shower; and they curl into each other and suddenly it’s warm and cosy and less lonely, and Dean’s sure he wants it to be like that forever.

  
*************************************

It’s well past midnight when Mitchell comes home from his late night shift at the hospital, and the air that wafts into the apartment in his wake is already cold and speaking of winter. The vampire finds Anders soundly asleep; curled into a blanket on the couch, remote still in one hand while the TV blares. Mitchell feels a pang of guilt at that because it’s entirely his fault; he was supposed to be home already two hours ago, but then was asked to cover for a co-worker who had to leave due to a family emergency, and you can’t really say no to that, can you? Mitchell dumps the bag with the take-out he’s grabbed on his way home on the counter, he knows he’s promised to cook dinner tonight and some cheap Chinese is only a poor replacement for the fest of Irish delicacies he had planned. When Mitchell steps into the living room area and shrugs off his jacket, Anders stirs and looks at him blearily over the back of the couch; just his head is visible with the hair all mussed. There are pillow marks down the left side of his face, and Mitchell breaks out in a fond smile. Walking over, he kisses his boyfriend on the forehead, whispering a quiet apology. For a moment, they just rest their foreheads together; Mitchell’s hand cupping Anders’ neck and the blond god’s fingers threading lightly through his vampire’s dark curls. Not wanting to spend a single second more without his beloved, Mitchell slides an arm underneath the smaller man and picks him up, walking them to the bathroom.

Even though the cold doesn’t affect Mitchell as much as it affects a mortal body, he can still feel it and it tugs at the tattered edges of his being. Feeling cold also means feeling human, but Mitchell hates the freezing, tingling sensation in his limbs and he’d much rather feel warm and snug right now, with a soft, living body curled against him and the steady beat of a heart echoing in his ears. Mitchell sits his sleepy boyfriend down on the closed lid of the toilet and begins to undress him; it doesn’t really take long because Anders is wearing only socks, shirt and soft pants, nothing underneath. Mitchell’s own clothes follow quickly, tossed into a heap next to the laundry basket. Despite the cold he feels somehow sticky after such a long shift, although technically his body can’t produce sweat or any other odours. And who was to say that vampires don’t enjoy the various shower gels and shampoos that are available? Anders always makes sure their supply never ends and, being Anders, he buys only the good, expensive stuff. Mitchell loves trying out all the different scents and flavours both on himself and on his boyfriend. Anders is so tired he actually sags forward and rests his cheek against Mitchell’s lower abdomen, face burying in the curly hair there and eyes closed in sleepy bliss. The vampire laughs softly as he cards his fingers through the cropped curls for a while. Then he pulls the blond man up and gently guides him into the shower.  
  
“Come on babe, just a little warming up, then we can go to bed.” The mention of bed gets Anders’ interests up for he steps into the shower and turns on the jet, holding his hand out for Mitchell.

The warm spray gathers in soft body hair and pearls off the tips like droplets of dew in the morning grass before Mitchell turns the jet to rain shower and lets the both of them get soaked through and through; the water massaging away any tension that has built up in Mitchell’s shoulders. Anders leans in, just leans against the vampire’s now warm body, arms around Mitchell’s waist. They stand like that, holding each other for some precious minutes while the water cascades over them like a rainfall. Neither of them says a word because there’s no need. They understand each other without words. Gently rubbing their wet faces together, each of them savours the other’s presence in wordless appreciation. Their mouths meet in the tender beginnings of a kiss, just these minute slight nibbles and barely touching the surface of their lips against one another with their eyes closed, ready to give themselves up within their partner. There’s no heat in this, no sexual desire or arousal although they’re both sporting lazy, half-hard members. Normally shower sex is a favourite, but this time it’s about being close, not about getting off. It’s about love, not about sex. Mitchell fills his hand with an ample puddle of shower gel - orange, his favourite - and trails it lightly down Anders’ back in a circling motion. The blond in turn works shampoo into this boyfriends dark, wet curls that are plastered to his face. They lather each other’s bodies until they’re covered in foam and bubbles, laughing happily as they spin their partner round to wash it off. Afterwards, they press together under the cover of the soft, extra large bathrobe that Mitchell has insisted they buy so they can snuggle up naked but dressed at the same time. They fall asleep in it under the thick winter covers Anders has piled already onto their bed; the vampire spooning against the god as they drift off into dreams; both smiling because sleepy showering after a night out is one of the best things that can happen.


	7. Wearing each other's clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did a call for fluffy ideas for my three OTPs a while ago on tumblr. This was one of the suggestions.  
> Careful, the Durincest one has mentions of BofA and near character death (but it’s a fix it!).  
> (Repost of an older work for backup/storage reasons).

**Aidean**

“Fuck!”, Dean cursed under his breath, sifting once more through his luggage that was already a mess to begin with. “I *did* put it in here, I’m 100% sure I did…”

“Maybe you lost it?” Graham suggested, watching the unfolding chaos from his place in the doorframe.

“Or it was stolen?” Stephen added in, although his tone made clear he didn’t quite believe in that theory himself.

One way or another, Dean’s favourite caramel coloured cardigan was missing; the one he had owned for ages and which he had worn on so many occasions: as a ‘giraffe’ on stage at Hobbitcon, during his Q&A with Aidan last year, in several interviews and photo shoots, on set when it was cold, and most importantly, when Aidan and he kissed for the first time.

And now it was gone. Lost or stolen or forgotten at home - not likely - or taken away by the hotel staff, either way, it was gone and only the fond memories attached to it remained. Dean was sad about the loss although he knew it was childish, but next to all the positive memories, it had been a damn comfy jacket as well. There was no time to mourn it though since Graham and Stephen were already kind of antsy, eager to leave the hotel and go outside to meet the waiting fans. Some of them were camping out since yesterday afternoon just to get a place with a good view at the premiere tomorrow, and the Kiwis thought that such perseverance deserved a reward. Plus, since this entire LA premiere thing was kind of a scam anyway, none of the Kiwis was in the mood to don a suit and attend the official party tonight. With a last sad glance at the suitcase, Dean grabbed another jacket and headed out after his mates.

They returned late, way past four in the morning, and Dean was a little tipsy as well. Which was why he blamed the alcohol at first for playing him a trick. He was checking his suitcase again, just because, although he had no hope of finding his beloved cardigan. Instead he dug out one of Aidan’s plaids from the bottom of the suitcase; the blue, wrinkled one Aidan had last worn before they parted ways. It was kind of ironic that Dean hadn’t been able to go to London with Aidan due to a job interview in Wellington (and due to the fact that he wasn’t invited to the world premiere, but he totally wouldn’t have minded staying in Aidan’s bed all the time and waiting for his return); and Aidan in turn hadn’t been able to go to the LA premiere because of a commitment in Dublin.  Which kind of posed the question as to when exactly Aidan had snuck the shirt into Dean’s luggage. Must have been on their last evening in Wellington. In any case, Dean was quite glad for the chequered piece of fabric. It still smelled faintly of Aidan; the scent bringing back memories of their last night together. Out of a whim, the blond Kiwi stripped his own shirt off and slipped into the wrinkled plaid. It was slightly too big for him, sure, but it felt good, warm - almost like being wrapped in one of Aidan’s gentle embraces. God, how Dean missed him!

Glancing at his watch he discovered it was a decent time in Dublin, so he quickly pulled up the Skype app on his tablet and logged on. And indeed - a green bubble next to Aidan’s name told him his boyfriend was online, or awake at the least. It took a while for the call to connect, but then it got accepted, the screen flickered, and Aidan’s room came into view - and with it a wild-haired Irishman draped onto the couch in a curious mixture of sprawling and yoga postures, wearing….

“My cardigan! What the fuck…?”

“It’s so soft.” Aidan cooed, snuggling into the caramel wool. “And it smells of you, Kiwi. Couldn’t let you go without keeping at least a piece of you. But I left an exchange. I see you found it.”

Dean went scarlet. Shit, he’d almost forgotten that he was wearing Aidan’s plaid. “I, yeah, well, I just, uh…”

Chuckling, Aidan shifted close to the screen. “You’re cute when you’re confused, O'Gorman.”

“Oh shut up, crazy curls Turner!” Dean was smiling when he said it.

********

**Britchell**

One very wet vampire had just stepped out of the shower, enjoying the humid warmth of the steamy bathroom for a few long moments. As always, Anders had been out of the shower faster than Mitchell. Most of the time, the blond would take those minutes to shave until Mitchell was ready as well. Then they’d towel each other off and head straight to bed - or do it right there against the sink. However, this time they’d had their share of fun while under the shower, and Anders had left Mitchell to himself while he went to the kitchen to make dinner.  
  
The vampire dried himself off and twisted his damp hair into a loose bun on top of his head. It had grown considerably since Mitchell had moved in with the god; the tips almost hitting his shoulder blades. Anders enjoyed tugging at it when they made love, until it came loose and tumbled down around them like a curtain. Mitchell slung the towel around his waist and stepped into the bedroom on a quest for something clean to wear. They weren’t exactly tidy, the vampire and the god. Clothes scattered on the bedroom floor were a common sight. They did have a closet, but there wasn’t much in it except Anders’ suits and dress shirts; some of Mitchell’s socks and a tux that Anders had insisted buying for his vampire when they went to a gala function the other day. Mitchell hadn’t liked it much; not the tux, but the fact that he had to dress up. He’d felt as if in costume, and the entire look reminded him too much of the 1940s; a decade he wasn’t particularly proud of in his life. Anders however had insisted he looked ’ _hot_ ’.  
  
Rummaging around, Mitchell found Anders’ soft blue sweatpants. The god of poetry must have found something else to wear; probably one of the other sets of house clothes that only Mitchell was ever allowed to see. Only Mitchell got to lay eyes upon soft, worn T-shirts with fraying collars and comfy track pants, worn with no socks and, mostly, no underwear. Speaking of underwear. Mitchell looked for a pair of boxers, but his black ones were gone. Instead, he found the striped pair that was Anders’ favourite, carelessly tossed into a corner. Had the god once again opted for the nudie version? 

Looking at the garment in his hand, Mitchell suddenly had an idea. The blond’s hips and waist were rather dainty, so much in fact that the first few times Anders was bottoming for him, Mitchell was afraid he might hurt the blond. With Mitchell’s own build being broader and taller than Anders’, he wasn’t sure if this would work, but in the end he managed to slide the sweatpants up until they rode low on his hips. With a smile, he went to search for a top.   
  
“Anders? Have you seen my red plaid?” he called out to his boyfriend when he couldn’t find the one in question. He’d put it on the pile earlier, for sure. No reply came save some clattering from the kitchen, indicating that Anders had begun his battle with dinner. So Mitchell settled for a tank top that was a little too short, leaving his hipbones and a stripe of his stomach bare.

Stepping into the living room area, he found no Anders in the kitchen, but was instead greeted with a mouth-watering sight sprawled on the couch. Anders was wearing both Mitchell’s black boxers and the red plaid over nothing but a very bare chest, plus his best come-hither smile. The vampire did not fail to notice the distinct bulge that stretched against the slinky fabric. His own cock twitched to life down in his…Anders’…pants.  
  
“Don’t stain them,” Anders purred with a wink and a lift of his chin. “They’re the only clean pair left.”

“Same counts for you.” Mitchell licked his lips; a faint groan escaping him when Anders ran a hand down to cup himself.

“Then come and rip your clothes off me.”

“Thought you were gonna make dinner?” the vampire managed in a last, faint attempt at resistance, eyeing his boyfriend’s spread out form.

Anders nodded his head towards the kitchen. “In the oven. We have 45 minutes exactly.”

*********

**Durincest**

As long as he could remember, Kíli had been made to wear his big brother’s clothes; first out of necessity since resources were sparse in the Blue Mountains, then out of convenience, and in the end out of habit. It had always been like that. The clothes that Fíli didn’t fit into anymore were given to the younger brother, and since Fíli was the heir and only got garments made from the best of leathers and the finest of velvets, Kíli had not really a reason to complain. Wearing his big brother’s clothes gave him a certain sense of comfort for whenever Fíli wasn’t around. Uncle Thorin had started taking the older nephew out on hunting trips and scouting missions, and sometimes Fíli was gone for weeks on end. The younger Durin then pulled his brother’s clothes tighter about him, basked in Fíli’s scent and fell asleep wrapped in Fíli’s protecting embrace.

For many years it was like that, one brother wearing the other’s clothes, until the day came when Kíli was suddenly taller than Fíli and the older dwarf’s garments wouldn’t fit him anymore. Fine linen shirts were now tailored to his measurements; he wore a tunic that was cut to his stature, and boots made to fit his feet. Dís soothed him with an extra ration of soup and Thorin gave him a well-meant lecture on being an adult. Still, he missed the comfort of Fíli’s clothes. Upon reaching his maturity, he received a royal emblem from Thorin’s hand, which was from there on integrated into his clothing, either as embroidery or etched into the thick velvets he now wore.

From then on, they exchanged their clothes only on rare occasions: when Kíli fell into an icy river during a trip into the mountains and had no spare clothes with him; when he tore his sleeve during a boar hunt, or when his coat was ripped off in a nasty battle with some marauding orcs. Fíli was always there, and like a good brother should, he always offered Kíli his coat for comfort and warmth, even if it meant enduring the cold and inclement weather in his brother’s stead.

Then came the quest. The journey that would not only change, but almost cost their lives. Orcs, goblins, wild men and stone giants - oh, the stone giants. Their battle had separated the brothers, falling boulders tearing holes in their clothes and their skins. Kíli had slipped and barely grabbed a hold on the edge of the path, sharp rocks cutting into his hands. He’d crawled into a little cave in the mountainside and waited there until he swaying and shaking ended. When he crawled out again, he found his brother and the rest of the company alive. Kíli’s body temperature had dropped critically, but once again his big brother was there to wrap him in his coat.

And then their world ended in blood and madness and death. Kíli survived the Battle of the Five Armies relatively unharmed save for a few cuts and a broken arm, but Fíli…

Once everything was over, Kíli rushed to the spot where he had last seen his brother, determined to at least recover his body, when he found Fíli alive, but badly injured. When the older Durin lay on his sickbed, broken, barely conscious, the flame of his life threatening to go out any moment, Kíli rose up and spread his own dirty, blood-stained coat over the shivering from of his brother, giving what little aid he had to give. So many times had Fíli’s coat saved his life, given him comfort in dark hours - he hoped that now in the darkest hour of their lives, he could weave a similar magic.

And indeed. After a few days Fíli stirred, weak still but with a smile, and Kíli was fetched quickly to come to his brother’s side, where he found him curling his uninjured hand into the lining of Kíli’s coat.

“It’s warm like you, and it’s got your scent upon it. I’ve often secretly taken it while you were asleep, and wrapped myself in it, just so I could have the comfort of your body.”

Hearing those words Kíli smiled, tears on his cheeks, and he shed his clothes and crawled into his brother’s bed, covering them with their coats, and underneath the fur and the leather and the warmth he hugged Fíli to his chest, paying heed to his injuries, and it was there that he knew they would be alright and live a long, untroubled life.


End file.
